


The End With You

by Invah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Invah/pseuds/Invah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all the shit you've seen since the bomb, Jake English is the most unbelievable thing yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End With You

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe Jude made me write something like this. i'm wounded.

He's there. 

He's there and you can't believe it,  and no matter how many times you say it, you can't convince yourself that the boy standing across the ruined street from you is Jake English.

Jake English, standing under the remains of a parking garage, stop sign gripped hard in his hands. You can see the emerald in his eyes from where you're crouched behind a car, baseball bat resting on your lap. 

Bodies by your feet.

Blood on your jeans.

He looks at you like he's seen a ghost, and you almost want to laugh at that metaphor. What could be worse than the fate you've found yourselves in? Ghosts are the least of your worries here. You can't bother to concern yourself with superstition when mangled corpses of people who used to be your neighbors and classmates are trying to tear your head off your shoulders. Quite literally. You have the claw marks around your neck to prove it.

Jake makes a move before you can. He's surprisingly careful on his feet. You used to think he was so clumsy and aloof, but if the look on his face is anything to go by, you assume he's seen his fair share of horrors this passed week to know what to do. Know not to make a step out of line. Not a single unnecessary sound. 

You've already cleared this area of... creatures. Mutants. You want to tell him it's okay, but you can't find your voice. He draws closer to your spot and tiptoes around the bumper of the car, his gaze falling to the cadavers at your sides. Then up to your scratched arms. To your face. He stares into your eyes with as much disbelief as he can muster, and you know you're looking at him the same. Out of all the shit you've seen since the bomb, Jake English is the most unbelievable thing yet.

You stand to meet him, because it hurts to stare skywards for too long. You lost your shades during a fight 2 days ago. You always had sensitive retinas. Dave did, too. You try to hold out hope that he's alive somewhere. You still haven't found him.

You haven't found _anybody_ in your week of searching.

Except now.

"Dirk?" It hurts. His voice is quiet, like a whisper, but strong and just a bit raspy. As if he'd been screaming. He bends down for a moment to rest his urban weapon beside the car. Doesn't look down. 

Hes gotten a lot tanner. Maybe hes been outside too long. He should really be wearing sunblock, before he gets a burn. Like you. Your shoulders are covered in them. Luckily your hat has been protecting your face. You borrowed it from your dad. No big deal. He'll understand, it was for a good reason. He always hated it when you took his things without asking, but maybe he'll make an exception this one time. Maybe he wont be mad. Maybe-  

"Dirk, please. You're rambling."

"Oh." You hadn’t realized you were talking out loud. You suppose you’d been doing that a lot lately, since you've been alone. You were always used to the voice recognition programs on your phone and computers to keep you busy, take notes, help you remember shit. Help you talk to your friends. Your hands were normally preoccupied with a robotics project, building your next creation.

Guess those don’t really matter anymore.

"Jake." You don’t know how to say his name in this situation. You just want to. His face is smudged in dirt and dried blood, and it fills you with so much feeling and sadness. And anger. _"Jake."_ You say it again, choking back all of your emotions as they well up inside of your chest. Everything burns suddenly.

 

Jake's hands find their way to yours, and you reflexively take in a shaky breath. He grips them tightly in his for a few seconds before he lets go. He touches your arms next, the scabs you got from that fight in the stairwell 3 days ago at your apartment, the burns on your shoulder (they sting, but its okay, you’ll live), and then your neck. Your cheeks. He caresses them gently, callouses worn on his fingertips. Cups the sides of your face in his palms softly, like he's holding something particularly delicate. You don't blame him. You feel like you're about to break. Jake wipes away the wetness on your cheeks and nose.

You aren’t sure if it's tears or something else. But it's probably tears.

"I’m so fucking glad you're alive, you old bean." He tries his best at a smile. It's crooked and wibbles at the corner. It's the best thing you've seen in your life. 

You couldn’t be happier than you are in this single moment.

So you wrap your arms around him, bat clattering to the cement when you drop it. He seems taken aback for a moment, but he doesn't skip a beat, embracing you quickly in return. Jake holds you closely, hard against his body, and the two of you shake in silence. You're sure that you're both crying, meekly and as quiet as you can. You know it. But you won't point that out to each other right now. 

The previous rules to your broship are currently on hold due to End of The World circumstances.

You grasp at him almost _desperately_ and you would be ashamed if you weren't so sure you were the last two fucking _people_ in existence right now. He smells like charred wood and something less pleasant. Something you haven't been able to get out of your own clothes for 7 days. The smell of survival. _Death._ You bury your head into his chest and breathe him in regardless, because there are still hints of that greenhouse he used to spend so much of his time in with his Grandmother from before all of this. You can envision all types of different plants and vegetables. Picture Jake smiling with some ridiculously oversized pumpkin beside him, grinning like an idiot who knows some kind of secret. 

He's warm and soft, trembling with you on the edge of the broken road. You hold each other for what feels like hours. But you can't stay there for long. You can already hear groaning in the distance. There'll be another group here soon, wandering like they always are.

Disgusting, aimless _things_.

Monsters.

“It's not safe here.” You muffle into his shirt, and you're smothered against him enough that you can feel him swallow in response. 

“Right. Isn't that the usual?” He laughs weakly at his own joke, tired. _Exhausted_ , even.

You don't have the heart to spare him a chuckle. You can't find it in you just yet. Instead you force yourself to pull away from him and the two of you gather your weapons from the ground.

He doesn't let go of your hand when you walk. Grips it tight enough to hurt your joints, but you don't say anything. 

You clench it back just as hard.


End file.
